rolled 4, 5, 6 = 15
The blacksmiths are working constantly, turning the bog iron and the small deposits you've managed to dig up into pipes and tools. Their skill is increasing slowly, and you're satisfied with their progress. A free-standing library has been built, filled with the books you had on hand and a sizable load from Fain, all dedicated, at your request, to Hretmar. The runes inscribed on the door-plate allow him to see within, and to read without straining. He appreciates it greatly.
The distillery, with the assistance of your magic, is producing small quantities of alcohol, some of which is sold in the next town for a little bit of gold. There has been talk of opening a tavern here, but the women protest against anything that will keep their husbands away for still longer. The men desire a place to 'do man things', as Mal put it. The foundation is laid, in any case.
Methane harvested from the cesspit is feeding a small furnace adjacent to the bathouse, which provides some degree of warmth even in this weather. Hretmar has been keeping the storms at bay, but the cold still seeps in, nonetheless. You're quite comfortable, but the villagers are not as resistant as you. Most are now clothed in some degree of fur, thanks to your gems removing the need to trade them, so they can stand plenty.
People are starting to inquire about your little town. No less than three merchants have visited within the last two months, each time forcing you to hastily clamber into the forest while erasing your tracks with magic. The snow hides your footprints well, but it would be difficult to explain things if you missed one. Word has gotten around, and there are people from less fortunate areas looking to emigrate. Something needs to be done, but you aren't yet sure what.